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In 1998 I read a book called "Balkan Ghosts" that talked about the long history of animosity between the various peoples of the balkans -- about the roots of innumerable rivalries that stretched back to pre-Roman times. It suggested that there was something basic to the Balkan heart that was factious, contentious and hugely prideful.

I personally think these things are basic to human nature: myself included.

The year 2000 was a political year in the US and that colored much of my thinking. The claims of politicians, the crowds chasing after this one or that based on the thinnest of premises and rhetoric. It was not hard for me, at that moment, to see the Bosnian conflict lit in the eyes of my fellow Americans. Or in my own.

Balkan Ghosts

And so it starts again; they promise much and then deliver nothing
Speak a million words that have no meaning
Filling up the air with their deceiving

A sound of rushing wind; a roar of voices cheering at illusion
Swell without a moment’s hesitation
Falling into line without discerning

They pull their punches, fling their dirt and swear by God about their honor
All the while they’re casting their aspersions
Pictures drawn in whispered implication.

They ride a wave of wealth and power that their hands have not created.
Greedy eyes and fingers always clutching
Selling out the soul for what they’re gaining

It is a story old as breathing;
Of darkened hearts that beat within
A song of hopelessness and grieving…
For what this land has seen and but for you is bound to see again

And so I start again: another chance to hear what you are saying
Hear and take it in and make it real
Stare amazed while scars begin to heal

I have looked on refugees; on Balkan ghosts, on harried, haunted faces
Caught up in the politics of power
Mown and trampled like the summer flower

A trail of wounded hearts, of broken faith, of years and moments wasted
Victims of the vain claims of the nations
Victims of their own selfish ambition

And I, just like Barabbas, have gone free while all the hounds of hate were howling
Even while my guilty eyes were gleaming
Innocence exchanged for undeserving

And somewhere, moonlight falls on meadows
Shimmers out across a silent sea
Undeterred by all my shadows
A voice that calls to me; a call to give away what has been given.

I don’t know where to turn or who to call to, if it isn’t you.
Men fall short, and I fall even shorter
Promises evaporate like water.

You are the stable ground, the rock that holds when all else starts to crumble
Light when every shadow goes to shifting
Power lit by Love, in Love transforming.

©2000, 2004 by Bob Ryan
Published by Leaping Armadillo,
Written Sept. 3, 2000; Phoenix, AZ